


Requiem

by CheerfullyCynical



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Comfort, F/F, F/M, Happy Ending, Missy (Doctor Who) Deserved Better, Missy Redemption, Other, POV Missy, POV The Master, So it's Simm Master then Dhawan Master then Missy, The Master (Dhawan) is an Earlier Incarnation Than Missy, The ambiguous fic of making Dhawan's Master leading to Missy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:15:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27095656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheerfullyCynical/pseuds/CheerfullyCynical
Summary: The Master was the last of the Time Lords… He had killed them all – dead, by his hand.What had he done?And… With horror and grief raging in his hearts, he died.…...She woke up.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor & Missy, Thirteenth Doctor & The Master (Dhawan), Thirteenth Doctor/Missy, Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan), Twelfth Doctor/Missy
Comments: 9
Kudos: 45





	Requiem

The Master was bleeding.

It didn’t register at first. He was madly piloting the TARDIS, using his foot on the occasion that he had to hit three levers and dials at once. Gallifrey had always been a fixed point in time – the only way he was going to escape the death particle was by, quite literally, flooding his TARDIS’s engine and hoping that that he landed in the Time Vortex before the blast hit him.

A warning light on the TARDIS’s screen, screaming at him that he was going to blow one of the main value regulators – that blew, and he would be stuck in the time vortex forever.

He growled, watching as the heat of the bomb licked at the TARDIS doors. Two more seconds, and his demise would be by fire – by a human’s hand. Ironic, in a way that he could almost appreciate.

He didn’t think he was going to make it.

“Damn you!” He yelled, thinking of _her,_ but cursing the whole bloody lot of Time Lords – damning Tecteun. They had taken everything from him.

Even his best friend.

He yelled again, knowing that he couldn’t let them win – knowing that he already lost, even if he made it out of this alive. With one final pull of a lever, and a few thousand blown gaskets, he arrived in the Time Vortex, practically half of his ship broken, but alive.

He didn’t smile – didn’t feel the need to. Instead, adrenaline had given way to exhaustion. He slumped over the TARDIS controls, knees hitting the ground and stars in his eyes. His forehead found the edge of the console, the cool metal bringing some relief.

Breathing heavily, he decided that the best course of action would be to lie down. He put his arm around his stomach, feeling something annoying there, and that’s when he felt it.

It was unmistakable – the way his clothes stuck to him, the fatigue he felt through his entire body, the air that refused to fill his lungs… He looked down… Vision swirling…

Blood – his blood, coating the entirety of his jacket, sliding down his sides. A shard of… He laughed, tears in his eyes at the sight... A piece of the Panopticon was lodge in his stomach, far too deep for it to not be fetal.

He could feel it then – the heat of regeneration, sparks of it sizzling his skin, burning his organs. Knowing what he had to do, he wrapped his hands around the large piece of metal, grunting as it moved. Breathing heavily, knowing that hesitating would hurt more, he pulled it out with one movement, his own screams echoing around him.

The Master collapsed on his side, the piece of it still clutched in one of his hands. He watched, barely conscious, as regeneration energy fizzled around it, disinterested since it wasn’t organic. He wondered how many righteous Time Lords had dared to touch the metal – smiled, now that he was the last one to do so.

He was the last of the Time Lords… He had killed them all – dead, by his hand.

What had he done?

And… With horror and grief raging in his hearts, he died.

……………..

…………

…..

…

..

.

 _She_ woke up.

The Master’s clothes were far too big for her, nearly dragging her down with the weight of it. She sat up, picking at the too long jacket, throwing it off her shoulders without care. She looked down, making a face at the amount of blood that drenched the clothing, spilling onto her skin.

“Oh dear,” She said, admiring her new voice, “How dreadful.”

Her new legs supported her well, even as regeneration energy still fizzled inside of her. She wasn’t the Doctor – prolonging the Master’s death had never been of interest to her. Bodies were just that – bodies to be used. Besides, the confusion that regeneration sickness brought was on par with the whole dying experience, and she didn’t want that.

She.

Funny, that she would copy the Doctor in this new regeneration. Her last body had wanted to be nothing like her, had wanted to be the opposite. He had nearly succeeded in making the Doctor his true enemy.

The Doctor.

She stopped mid stride, wondering how she could have forgotten. She knew in her hearts that the Doctor had to of survived – she was too stubborn to die like that. Still, the idea of the Doctor’s death haunted her.

All of it was haunting her.

She needed a plan. She needed to think – needed to breathe.

She rushed through her TARDIS, taking notes on what she needed to fix at she went, but mind still raging with what to _do._ She had always had a purpose, always had something to do… Now she found that, with the Doctor’s hatred and her people gone…

“I’ve won nothing.” She told her ship, sadly, finding that she was oddly filled to the brim with _feelings._ Only moments ago the Master had been furious and raving mad – a good successor to her last self. This body already wanted to be different. 

She wished for the anger – the passion of hatred – of her last self… Anger had been easy to understand and even easier to feed into.

She realized that she had already made it to her bedroom and put on a robe. She blinked, wondering when her legs had taken her here, then, with sudden clarity, glaring at the golden sparks that still danced across her skin. Her sense of time had disappeared for a whole moment, a common side effect to dying.

She stared at the bloody clothes that had been dump on the floor. His – _her, their_ blood was now saturated onto the fabric, making it less than usable, nearly unrecognizable. She would miss being him, no matter how many mistakes her anger had brought.

She took a ragged breath in. She…Blinked?

It was…

Dark. She was tired, so tired all of a sudden.

She was laying down, the ground hard beneath her head. She barely felt it.

She wanted…….. _She wanted….. She needed… peace._

“Missy.” She whispered to the air – to anyone that would listen. “Mis-ey.”

She was done with being the Master.

Laughing to herself at the pun, knowing it would bring so much chaos, she closed her eyes…

And slept.

Missy spent years _sleeping._

On a good day, she would close her eyes and see only darkness. Those days were few and far between. The Master had always been plagued with nightmares; of the torture the Time Lords had inflicted on her as a boy. Now, when her nightmares came, she would only see Gallifrey.

The Master would watch proudly as the Doctor stood frozen in her trap. The Doctor would rage, calling her a coward – calling her a monster – and the Master would beg her to understand, would shout and scream that they deserved it, that they deserved to burn for what they did.

And, with the Doctor’s hateful eyes upon her, the Master would glare at the eyes of those she had killed, watching as they descended upon her, burning her and pushing her on her back, where she would slam her head on the corner of the Panopticon. Her body would slump to the side and she would wake up…

…Laying in her bed, staring up at a white ceiling, thinking about her past sins. With nightmares making sleep impossible, she would wonder the halls of her TARDIS, looking for something that she knew she would not find – something that she was only close to when she was with her oldest friend. Her… _Feelings_ had left her empty, filled with a vague sense that nothing she done was _right._

Then, centuries of being a ghost, she finally found herself in the console room, the internal Chameleon Circuit still stuck as that horrid room in the Outback. It felt wrong to see it in such a state – to not let her TARDIS express itself as it wanted.

She spent her time fixing the TARDIS. It gave her something to do, something that made her feel accomplished. It was rewarding to have the TARDIS thank her every time she finished something and, soon enough, the TARDIS gave her own little gifts.

The kitchen had come first – stocked to the brim with food. She hadn’t eaten much of it, never very hungry, but it was nice to have anything other than protein packets when the mood hit her. After she finished replacing every blown gasket, a library came next, with a built-in fireplace that Missy loved more than anything.

She was starting to understand why the Doctor loved her own TARDIS so much.

She felt like herself again as she dove heard first into every book she could get her hands on, experimenting with the various things she learned. She had always loved science, much like her oldest friend, and found comfort in facts rather than fiction.

She felt _alive_ when it all came together, the TARDIS humming beneath her bare feet as she found nothing else that she could fix. She patted her console, thankful for the comfort, and leaned against it.

Her smile dimmed as she realized she really had nothing else to do. Her hands clenched into fists and for the first time in months, she felt as if she came full circle, her old nightmares come to haunt her.

The TARDIS beeped at her, concerned, Gallifreyan words that normally just showed coordinates and general health swirling together, creating something else. She scoffed at the words when they finally rearranged themselves.

“No thank you, dearie,” She said, “That’s the last person that would cheer me up, thank you very much.”

The TARDIS was persistent. With a few angry beeps, the words again changed, shifting to show a set of coordinates.

Coordinates that had nothing to do with her current Doctor. Coordinates that hinted at the past, and a different timeline. Her TARDIS was just as clever as she was.

_She loved it._

Smirking, laughing loudly, she fell back into the roll she played so well, hatching a plan that would surely get the Doctor’s, any regeneration of the Doctor’s, attention. She laughed through the halls as she went to the wardrobe room, thinking of what would best impress her old friend.

She may never be allowed to see her current Doctor, but nothing was stopping Missy from seeing one that was younger.

Hmm… And she had just the outfit to impress _him._

“Well, dear,” She said, looking in the mirror, admiring the slim look the corset gave her – the red lipstick was also a nice touch, “How did I do?”

The TARDIS’s lights blinked. Missy imagined that she was clapping.

Oh, she was going to have _so much fun._

Seeing him was like being hit by a freight train.

Missy barreled into the Doctor, throwing herself at him so passionately that _he_ was forced to response. She wished, for a moment, that the Doctor would recognize her on site, but felt satisfaction at the idea that she was so good at deceiving him that he needed it spelled out for him.

She smirked as he looked horror stricken at her, obviously not one for snogging. A shame, seeing as she was convinced she could have convinced his next regeneration into something more, but more excited that she had _finally_ pulled this off.

It was bittersweet to see him, yet better than the hateful eyes that the Doctor so fiercely displayed on Gallifrey. She wondered how long she could keep up the ruse, how long the Doctor had until her next self caused more destruction…

She enjoyed it while it lasted.

Of course the Doctor “beat” her – that’s what he was meant to do. She laughed as she scuttled back to her TARDIS, the metaphorical tail between her legs as the Doctor’s win washed over her.

“Oh, Doctor,” She said, still laughing, “Foiled again, I’m afraid. I do wonder what else there is in store!”

She clapped her hands, _absolutely thriving,_ the adrenaline she felt more fulfilling than she could have imagined. There was so much more to _plan –_ another scheme she had to come up with to see the Doctor once again. This was just to fun!

After a short vacation, however. Planning the afterlife wasn’t easier, after all!

She enjoyed a couple of different planets. Causing more chaos… Staring a few wars… It was like child’s play compared to going against the Doctor. Still, it helped her with more ideas – more things to do to keep her mind busy.

Then, on a moon planet that she could not remember the name of, drinking tea, she received it.

A confession dial.

The tea spilled from her lips as she coughed it up – a napkin in her hand as guest turned to look at her. She stared at the Gallifreyan words, hearts sinking, wondering why her old friend would send her such a thing – how she deserved it.

She turned it around in her hands, realizing all at once that in felt very much _wrong_ in her hands – time screaming at her as she picked it up. This was not the future Doctor – not _her –_ but _him._ Whatever adventure the Doctor got himself into, it was enough to think it was the end.

She laughed loudly, scaring the guest there. She picked up her bags, a bomb planted in one of them, and made her way back to her TARDIS. Missy had so many plans for the Doctor, so many plots for the Doctor to play, but she would happily fall into his.

Missy despised it.

She should have known that any adventure the Doctor planned would never go well. Daleks were nothing to laugh about, even for her, and she hated that they had a way of reminding her of her lost daughter. She hated the entire bloody thing.

She hated the girl, Clara (even if it was fun to torture her), and she hated the way the Doctor screamed as he just _gave away_ his regeneration energy for their sworn enemy (hated that it reminded her once again that the Doctor was the _Timeless Child)_. She hated that he was filled with compassion at all times.

She hated to think that his compassion will run out in his next life.

Still, she has no time to think of all _that_ touchy-feely stuff. The Doctor had told her to run and, for once, she was going to. The Daleks were nothing to laugh about and she had escaping to do.

That night, she sat in her TARDIS library, the fire not hot enough to get rid of the chill in her bones. The Doctor had hated her in that one moment, the human girl clearly off limits, and she feared the look in his eyes as he stared at her.

She started this because…Because…

Missy still did not know.

No, she knew. Of course she knew. Missy loved – _hated –_ admired – _despised – HATED_ the Doctor. The Master couldn’t not live with the fact that the Doctor was so much _more –_ that their history had been ripped from them, that their love had been mocked.

She wanted those simpler times back – she wanted her friend back. Wanted the naive boy that had asked, over and over, to get married in secret. She needed the one person that understood her standing next to her.

Missy hadn’t done anything to prove that she wanted that. All she had done was made it _worse._

She wondered how the future Doctor could even stand the sight of him… Understood the horror in her eyes when the Master had revealed himself on that aeroplane. Missy was becoming a monster.

She needed to be better.

The universe provides.

Well, it its most obnoxious way.

Getting attacked by one of the few people that actually had a way to kill a Time Lord? That was just too much for her. Too much coincidence, too much recklessness, too much of a chance that she could very well die like this.

However, much to her surprise…

The Doctor came to save her.

And, to him… _“Without witness, without hope, without reward”…_ He meant save in every sense of the word.

Maybe, the Doctor was right.

A vault.

A v-a-u-l-t. A prison. She could go nowhere, she could do nothing, she could _be_ nothing. It was torture (it was peaceful) and it was _annoying._ She despised being in a cage, loathed the endless days that were never ending and pointless.

But Missy loved seeing him.

Loved that, at moment’s she allowed her guard down, they could share stories and jokes. They could eat a meal together, reminiscing about good times. If she looked hard enough into his eyes, she could see the boy that she loved.

But she was just. So. Bored.

And she hated that with boredom, with the time she had to herself, with the endless, stupid speeches the Doctor gave about the value of life… She was starting to understand.

She hated that she would cry now – that she would see the children that she had burned and feel crushing guilt. She hated that the billions of people on Gallifrey weighed on her entire soul – heavy and dark – and that, one day, the Doctor would know it was _her._

Hated that the horror she had seen on the Doctor’s face when she revealed O… Was from the events that led her _here._ Something… Something made her break her vows to him. Something brought them apart once again.

And she had to sit in a cage and weep about sins that he did not know about.

“You can’t keep me here forever!” She said on a day that had tears pouring from her eyes. She was _furious_ with him, and she didn’t miss that anger.

“I will if I have to.” He warned.

But her words were meant to be a warning to him, not one of ill content.

It stood to reason that only The Master could mess up their own redemption.

As she stared into the eyes of her most hateful regeneration, she felt something akin to horror. The idea of him – of his anger and madness – being back, was enough to leave her breathless. She had so much to do, so much to _prove,_ yet it was still themselves that would bring their fall.

She played along, hoping that she could do it – hoping, much like the Doctor, that she was believable enough to stop the Master.

It stood to reason that she played her game too well.

As she stared at the fake sky above her, bleeding and cold, she wondered why she couldn’t see the stars. The Doctor and the Master had spent so many hours staring that the constellations on Gallifrey. She had tried to tell the Doctor that she was on his side, but she knew that the dense idiot wouldn’t understand what her knife meant.

So, as she crawled her way through the forest floor, regeneration energy once again burning his skin, she laughed.

The Master never deserved a happy ending.

The Master… _No…_

Missy woke up in a new body.

A bit younger looking… finely kinked black hair upon her head, dark brown eyes… a new body, a new _her._ Missy was already loving this new look.

Then… Memories.

The Doctor. _The Doctor._

She ripped off her corset, nearly suffocated by it after her regeneration, and proceeded to trip on the too small skirt of her dress. She didn’t care. Instead, she rushed to her TARDIS screens and pushed her new hands into the telepathic circuits, looking for him.

No…

_No._

Missy was too late. The Doctor, _her Doctor,_ had already regenerated.

She screamed, slamming her palm into the console, relishing in the pain. That was it then – no saving the Doctor, no saving her stupid little humans… She had failed.

Anger washed away. Instead, guilt returned. Tears sprung to her eyes, and she found herself sobbing, falling to her knees in agony.

Again, she had nothing – nothing to give the universe, nothing to give the Doctor. All she had left was her TARDIS.

Three months. She allowed herself three months.

After three months, she finally dragged herself from her stupor. She showered, braiding her hair, and even started to find a new style – business casual had never looked sexier. Trouser, this time too.

She marched into her TARDIS’s console room as if it was a war zone.

With focused eyes, she dared put her hands on that that telepathic circuit once again, thinking of _her_ – of the Doctor he had wrong… of the person she had married all those years ago.

And, when she realized where the Doctor was, she knew what she had to do.

“Need a lift, love?”

It was cheesy, and certainly bad, and she didn’t dare imagine it would come out like that. But the Doctor, in this ugly red jumpsuit, eyes sunken and dull and so devoid of life… The Doctor needed a joke.

“Missy?” The Doctor asked, hoarse from disuse. She looked devasted… Hopeful.

Missy’s hearts skipped a beat… All four of them.

“Come on,” Missy said, holding out a hand to her, “Come with me. Please?”

The Doctor hesitated, and Missy knew that she deserved it, but it stung more than regeneration energy. Still, Missy watched with bated breath as the Doctor put her hand in her’s. With one squeeze, Missy was helping her stand.

Clearly exhausted, Missy let the Doctor lean against her as they made their way to her TARDIS. She knew she should be angry for how the Jodoon had treated her… but making sure the Doctor was okay was more important than ever.

“I’ll run you a bath,” Missy said, knowing how isolated made the Doctor feel. “Clean you up.”

“Why?”

Missy winced. How could she explain? How could she justify actions that happened hundreds of years ago for her, but years ago for her?

The answer came to her.

“Because, you idiot,” She huffed, then straightened, “I love you.”

The Doctor flinched in her arms. She stumbled away from her, and Missy watched as the Doctor’s back hit the wall behind her.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Missy could only smile sadly, “I’m not. I swear it.”

“You- You…” The Doctor was crying.

_She made the Doctor cry._

Missy watched in a panic as the Doctor sunk to the ground, sobs loud in the empty TARDIS. She watched as the Doctor put her forehead to her knees, hiding her face, _broken._

_“I know you're broken, but it's all over now.”_

She had wanted to break the Doctor… And the Master had succeeded.

Knowing there was nothing she could do, Missy placed herself in front of the Doctor. She, too, put her back against the wall, slowly sinking down until she was sitting next to the her, just inches away.

She was shocked that the Doctor put her head on her shoulder, but not as shocked when she found her own arm going around the Doctor’s back, bringing her closer. Missy said nothing as they stared at the wall in front of them, just simply _being_ together was enough to quiet her mind.

“You’re not after him,” The Doctor said after a while, “You’ve been in the vault.”

She had no reason to lie, “Yes.”

“Everything in the Matrix was before our vows.”

Missy flinched, knowing what she was feeling. This time, Missy leaned her head against the Doctor’s own, “Yes.”

Silence again. The Doctor didn’t move.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you.”

Another moment. Another time span between them.

“That’s alright,” Missy said, placing a kiss on her forehead,

“I don’t know if I can forgive myself.”

It took years… Centuries… Lifetimes.

It required tears, screaming, and kissing.

It demanded time, and space, and patience.

They needed to be apart, they needed to be together. They needed to come to terms with their past, and future.

But… But… With hope in their hearts.

Missy and the Doctor loved.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in one never ending sitting after three coffees. 
> 
> I had this idea one second after watching The Timeless Children... and GODS it should be real. I hope that it made sense. At the very least, I hope it was at least a fun character study read. 
> 
> As always, if you want to talk about Doctor Who, need someone to talk to in these trying times, or just want a new blog to follow, you can find me on tumblr at cheerfullycynicalfandom.tumblr.com


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